Tag Archive | congestive heart failure

Lessons We Learn from Caregiving for Our Loved Ones With Dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease

In Nick Norton’s blog post, “10 Things Caregiving Taught Me in 2013,” he lists some of the things he learned from caregiving, along with his mom, for his grandfather who suffered from Alzheimer’s Disease (his grandfather died in June 2013). 

Several of Nick’s lessons resonated with me from my own experiences caregiving for Mama the last several years of her life as she suffered with congestive heart failure, vascular dementia, Lewy Body dementia, and Alzheimer’s Disease. The lessons I learned were ones that I could not have learned any other way or through any other of life’s experiences.

That makes them priceless, although I would not have ever wanted Mama to have to go through what she went through so that I could learn them. However, I consider these lessons that I learned as Mama’s last and lasting gifts to me, giving to and helping me, as she wanted to and did with so many other people throughout her time on this earth.

One of the lessons Nick and I both learned is that until you’ve been a caregiver for a loved one with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease, you will never be able to fully understand what it entails.

In the caregiving realm, it is a unique experience. Not only are you dealing with normal aging issues and health concerns, but you are also actively losing a family member – a mentor, a matriarch, a patriarch, a counselor, a beloved friend – while he or she is still alive (in these neurological diseases, we actually lose them twice).

Unlike caring for and raising children, our loved ones with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease regress instead of progress. Their communication issues increase instead of decreasing. Their complete dependence grows instead of declining. Their vulnerabilities, fears, and anxieties of a lifetime on this planet come back around in full force as their worlds get smaller instead of the dissipation a child experiences as his or her world gets bigger. Their suffering will never get better. Instead, it will increasingly get worse. There’s no way to fix it, no hope for improvement, no expectation of positive changes.

It is truly a 24/7 responsibility. There is no down time. And each journey is unique, so as caregivers we are constantly responding to and adapting to surprises, to the unexpected, to the unknown. It can be both extremely mentally and physically exhausting.

Lessons Learned From CaregivingThe whole experience can be a very difficult thing to actually wrap your mind around, to alter your thinking to adapt to, to, in short, accept and roll with on an even keel. In my experience, this is next to impossible for many people to do, deal with, and stay with for the duration.

That ability is one of the many things that makes caregiving for our loved ones with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease unique. And it makes those of us who choose to do this unique.

Another of the lessons that Nick learned was to pray regularly. Although I’ve always prayed regularly, it was through caregiving for Mama that I really began to understand and practice Paul’s exhortation to pray without ceasing and Peter’s reminder to cast all my cares on Him.

My prayers became more continual, more deeply personal, and my relationship with God more intimate and more strong, as it remains and continues to grow in to this day and I intend for it to remain and grow in for the remainder of my life.

And looking for the joy in life was another lesson that, like Nick, I learned while caregiving for Mama. There were moments that we had the privilege of sharing together during those years that brought both of us joy and still make me smile when I think of them.

However, I find it much more difficult to find the joy in life in general now that Mama’s gone because it seems that life has gotten a lot harder for me since Mama’s death.

It’s proven to be extraordinarily difficult to find a smooth, seamless, and meaningful transition to the next phase of my life in the absence of being needed, useful, and worthwhile while caring for Mama.

These days,I frequently ask God that if I don’t have any more value in this life if He will just mercifully end it and give me the peace of death until the next phase He has planned for me (so far, His answer has been “no” and I have to accept that until He says “yes”).

But I still try to remind myself to look for joy, even if seems elusive and gone for good, at least in this phase of life for me.

There are life lessons each of us as caregivers for our loved ones with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease will learn. Let’s remember not to get so caught up in the day-to-day, some of which will be sad, trying, frustrating, and full of epic fails, that we miss the bigger picture of what we’re being given the unique opportunities to learn and grow from.

The Stressor of Physical Health in Caregiving for Our Loved Ones Suffering With Dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease

This will be the last post in this series about the role that stress plays in our loved ones suffering with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease

We’ve discussed some of the most common sources of stress for our loved ones, including unmet needs, physical environment and routine, as well as communication, vision, and hearing.

This post will talk about how physical health – both preexisting conditions and and conditions that arise concurrently with or as a result stress-the-way-it-looksof cognitive impairment and neurological damage – can be one of the most continuous and more serious sources of stress for both us as caregivers and for our loved ones who are suffering with Alzheimer’s Disease and dementias.

All disruptions in physical health cause stress for all of us. Even a simple cold in those of us who are physically and mentally healthy causes stress because it interrupts our lives, slows down our lives, and may negatively impact our lives.

A common example for a lot of people is that if you don’t get paid medical leave at work and you can’t be at work because you’re sick, then you don’t get paid, so you have less income that paycheck. Quite frankly, that’s why so many of us just suck it up and go to work anyway unless we’re on the precipice of dying (and that’s a bit of humor, so please take it that way!) and why the entire office ends up getting colds.

The weaker immune systems in the office may end with upper respiratory infections and even pneumonia because we couldn’t afford the stress of having less money in our paycheck. That’s the current reality in the United States in a lot of companies.

So if we realize how much stress illnesses and health problems cause in us, then we understand how the stressor of physical health problems in our loved ones suffering with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease is exacerbated by the neurological impairment and decline.

Except for early onset dementia or early onset Alzheimer’s Disease (younger than 65 years of age when symptoms start), most of our loved ones are well on their way in the physical aging of their bodies and their bodies are wearing out.

Heart problems are probably the most common physical health condition that our elderly loved ones face. Heart problems can manifest themselves as anything from hypertension (high blood pressure)  and atrial fibrillation (AFib) to malfunctioning valves, blocked arteries, and congestive heart failure

High blood pressure is an interesting health stressor to look at because it can be a contributor to vascular dementia developing, yet high blood pressure is related to stress (it is actually the result of constricted arteries, so the heart has to pump harder to keep blood flow going), so this stressor is really a two-edged sword for our loved ones suffering with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease. Stress causes blood pressure to rise and high blood pressure causes stress – and damage – to the heart and to the brain.

However, high blood pressure poses a third risk – and stressor – healthwise. As our loved ones age, high blood pressure becomes more difficult to manage medically, so often multiple types of medications are used, including statins, beta blockers, and diuretics, and some of these – especially long-term use of diuretics to pull fluid off the heart and extremities – have detrimental effects on kidney function and can lead to kidney failure.

Atrial fibrillation can be corrected in its early stages with some medications (with a lot of risks) and later with a pacemaker. However, when looking at a surgical option for our loved ones suffering from dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease, we must always consider that going under general anesthesia will always result in further cognitive decline and impairment. And that will be a post-surgical source of more stress for our loved ones.

Heart-DiseaseDefective heart valves and blocked or constricted arteries will create stress for our loved ones in many ways. First, there is physical pain associated with these conditions and pain is a stressor. There is also a decreased flow of oxygen, so breathing will become more difficult. If you’ve ever had a hard time catching your breath (or suffered from respiratory problems like asthma), you know how stressful not being able to breathe can be.

But the decreased flow of oxygen also means less oxygen to the brain, which can make cognitive impairment even more pronounced, no matter where our loved ones suffering with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease are in the course of their journeys, which is another source of stress.

I would strongly urge caregivers of loved ones who also suffer from heart problems to get their loved ones’ oxygen saturation levels tested. A continuous oxygen saturation level below 90 means that the body and the brain is not getting enough oxygen (you will find that these levels go extremely low during sleep).

Oxygen is available for home (or care facility) use and will help dramatically. A doctor has to prescribe it, but the saturation test results will make that easy. And a home health equipment company will deliver the equipment.

oxygen-concentratorWe used a non-tank oxygen concentrator for Mama at home and I had a portable version with a battery pack to take with us when we went out. I kept the portable oxygen concentrator charged all the time in case we lost power because I didn’t want oxygen tanks in our house (true confession: the oxygen tanks really made me nervous and I was terrified they were going to explode and kill us both and that was the only other no-electricity alternative).

Whether to surgically treat defective heart valves and blocked or constricted arteries is again a matter of weighing the overall risks with the overall benefits. 

Although I strongly advise against general anesthesia  with our loved ones with neurological damage and cognitive impairment, there are other surgical options that may be available to treat some of these conditions that do not require putting our loved ones all the way under anesthesia.

For example, my mom had congestive heart failure the last three years of her life, so we were both always on high alert for signs of it reaching an acute (full) stage and I got very good at knowing when we needed to do something, medication-wise, to get the fluid off her heart to prevent possible pneumonia and heart failure.

Five and a half months before Mama died, on a Friday afternoon in March (her birthday), Mama started sweating profusely and complaining of pain and nausea. I immediately started doing a medical inventory with her and trying to ascertain where the pain was and what, if anything, we could do at home to alleviate it.

When Mama vomited the first time, I asked if she wanted to go to the hospital, and she said she didn’t, but asked if I could help her over to the couch to lie down and sleep because she thought that might make her feel better.

Mama slept for about an hour with me hovering, wiping the beads of sweat off her forehead, wondering if I was doing the right thing by letting her decide to go the hospital or stay home. We’d already made the decision that she would not go back to the hospital for her heart problems, but instead would treat those at home under her doctor’s guidance.

I don’t know how I knew, but I knew this wasn’t a heart issue, but I didn’t know what else it could be. When Mama awoke from her nap, she groaned with pain and I managed to get a trash can over to her before she vomited again.

I put my hand over her heart and asked if that hurt there and Mama shook her head. I put my hand on her stomach and asked if it hurt there. Mama shook her head again. I knew she’d had her appendix out when she was 19 or 20, so I didn’t bother with her left lower side. I put my hand on her right side just below her ribs and she cried out and vomited again.

I told Mama we needed to go to the hospital and she agreed with me that time. After several hours in the ER, with pain and anti-nausea medication helping Mama with the physical symptoms, the tests the doctor had run showed that Mama had a gall bladder infection. We had to transfer at about 2 am that Saturday morning to a surgical hospital to deal with that.

The gastrointestinal (GI) doctor who came in around 6:30 am that Saturday morning told us that Mama needed her gallbladder removed. Without even worrying about the cognitive effects of general anesthesia, I knew Mama’s heart wasn’t strong enough to survive it.

I told the GI doctor that wasn’t an option because of her heart and I could visibly see the “whatever” look on his face when he very disdainfully told both of us that he could put a drain into to remove the infection under twilight anesthesia, and I’d have to take care of it for six weeks, but it wouldn’t remove the problem and we’d have to do it again within a year.

I knew the odds of us having to do it again before Mama died were slim to none, so Mama and I talked about it and we agreed to the drain. The procedure was scheduled for Sunday morning.

On Sunday morning, a nurse brought surgery paperwork into Mama’s room early for me to sign. I told her “no surgery” and I refused to sign the paperwork until the GI doctor changed it to the procedure for putting in the drain.

And even though we chose the least affecting method for Mama to do something that had to be done, it caused a lot of stress for Mama (both the procedure and the six weeks the drain was in) and it negatively affected her cognition dramatically for several weeks (she finally stabilized with a little improvement by the third week in April).

When we got home, I immediately revised Mama’s diet to include foods that would help her gallbladder and remove foods that might lead to another infection. I tried to keep a lot of fat out of our diets anyway, but I also knew that Mama had a limited amount of life left, so I indulged her love for ice cream every evening for dessert after dinner and when she told me one day she wanted “a hamburger at that place we used to go to,” I let her splurge on a Five Guys burger with the works and french fries.

But the stress of Mama’s physical health problems never fully went away after that. Even though she recovered beautifully from the gallbladder infection, the congestive heart failure was gaining ground and she was in pain with her heart frequently.

And that would increase her levels of stress, alternately making her worried – about me and the “burden” she thought she was to me (I always reassured her that she was not a burden to me and I wouldn’t be anywhere else doing anything else because I loved her) – and agitated about things. 

My struggle – and our struggle as caregivers for our loved ones with dementias and Alzheimer’s Diseases along with other physical health problems – was not to let Mama’s stress get me stressed out.

Most of the time, I did pretty well managing my own stress in front of her.

But there were plenty of times where, even though Mama didn’t know it, my own stress levels from wanting to make sure she was comfortable and not in pain and that I was doing everything right and my own knowledge that the end was close even though I didn’t know what that would look like were extremely high and sustained.

Truth be told, I don’t really think even now, a year and a half after her death, my sustained stress levels have gone down. It’s seems as though I just traded one kind of stress for other – and, in my opinion, worse – kinds of stress.

(I often wonder if this is just the new normal for me. And how the effects, if I live long enough – although I hope I don’t because I don’t want to be a burden to anyone – will play out for me. I plead with God every day to end my life before I outlive my body and my brain.)

One other type of physical health stressors that are common to our loved ones with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease are the cognitive impairment-related health issues. The two most common are pneumonia and urinary tract infections.

Pneumonia is many times listed as the cause of death in our loved ones with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease. This is because as neurological damage increases, having trouble chewing and swallowing (automatic reflexes controlled by the brain) causes choking (a stress mechanism) and food gets aspirated into the lungs, causing infection.

Urinary tract infections can be very common in our loved ones as well. A lack of hydration can be one cause, while improper hygiene can be another cause. However, both can, at the same time, be causes. Urinary tract infections are treatable with antibiotics, so it’s imperative to start those as soon as symptoms appears.

One of the most common symptoms of a urinary tract infection in our loved ones with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease is a sudden and sharp cognitive decline marked by profound confusion, extreme agitation, and sometimes physically aggressive behavior (a stress mechanism) where there was none before.

So, if we as caregivers observe this in our loved ones, we need to seek immediate medical treatment for them, either by home health nurses or by going to the ER.

This concludes this series on stressors and how they affect our loved ones with cognitive impairment and neurological damage. I hope it’s been informative.

I plan on doing another series in the future on some of the ways we – who are still healthy mentally and physically – can reduce or eliminate the potential stressors others might face if we get terminally ill (these are terminal illnesses) or we die.

What Not to Say to A Caregiver of Our Loved Ones With Dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease

While this article gives brief explanations of what and why you shouldn’t say certain things to caregivers of loved ones with dementias and Alzheimer’s Disease (and any other chronic age-related illness), I would like to focus on being mindful of what we say to caregivers who are taking care of loved ones suffering from dementias, Alzheimer’s Disease, and/or other age-related illnesses. The human proclivity is to talk without thinking and my hope is that, with this post, we’ll all slow down, take a deep breath, and think before we speak.

As difficult as it may be to comprehend in our multitasking, “have-it-all, do-it-all,” split-second world, once we chose to become caregivers, our lives stop in many ways and we have a single focus: taking care of the loved one(s) entrusted to our care.

This has become an anomaly in our 24/7 digital, connected, always-on society. Personally, I believe it is why caregivers often find themselves alone in taking care of their loved ones. Siblings, friends, and other family just can’t slow down, disconnect, and, yes, sometimes, can’t be bothered with the labor and time-intensive task of caring for a loved one.

11-things-not-to-say-to-a-caregiverAgingcare.com posted a list of things not to say to caregivers of our loved ones with dementias and Alzheimer’s disease.

I always add caveats to these black-and-white statements, so please know that I understand there are many circumstances, sometimes way beyond our control, to be an interactive part of the caregiving process.

What I am talking about here are the able, the capable, but the unwilling and unrelenting people within the circle of our lives who could, but won’t step up to the plate, but who often are our most vocal critics. 

But this post isn’t a diatribe against these people. There are  a lot of reasons for why, some of which I and all the other caregivers out there will never understand, and accepting that is part of building character. It is what it is. Anger, resentment, and bitterness don’t hurt anyone but us and our loved ones, so please don’t let any of these take root and let them become who we, as caregivers, are. 

This post is about what we all should be mindful of not saying to caregivers of loved ones suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease, dementias, and/or other age-related illnesses. It is about thinking before we speak and putting ourselves in someone else’s shoes. It is about sensitivity, care, concern, and love.

Most of the people who say some of these things listed in “11 Things You Should Never Say To a Caregiver,” have never been caregivers for loved ones and would never consider being caregivers because it would mean they would have to sacrifice their lives, give up what they want to do, put their own goals and ambitions aside – and risk losing their place and relevance in their careers, their social networks, their lives as they define them (and when a person makes the choice to be a caregiver to a loved one first and foremost, it dramatically, and not always positively, changes his or her life in all these areas both on a short-term and long-term basis).

I get that. Once upon a time in my own life, I was all about me, about my career, my success, my move up the corporate ladder. Every career move I made was a step forward, carefully planned (and blessed and allowed by God, much like Jacob in his life [reading through Genesis in the last week or so has made me realize how similar my view of myself is to Jacob’s view of himself until he hit critical mass and realized that he was the beneficiary of God’s blessings, much the same position I find myself in now]) even in spite of, many times, my arrogance and belief that it was all me – my talent and ability moving me ahead.

But always, and this was perhaps the thing that somehow, in spite of me, kept me grounded, I was deeply connected to love, responsibility, and obligation to my family, especially to my parents. Daddy and Mama sacrificed a lot to adopt us kids. They, in their own ways, both gave up more lucrative careers to build a family with us.

I bonded with these two people who chose me when they could have chosen anyone, and in spite of our rocky places, our mutual lack of understanding at times, our frustration with each other because we couldn’t find common middle ground at times, in the end, we loved each other unconditionally, and it was that unconditional love that tied us together no matter what.

So, when my time came around to complete the circle of life, I failed Daddy more than I failed Mama. I still, when Daddy was so sick, had not quite gotten beyond what I wanted and the idea that my life was all about me.

I will regret that the rest of my life and I will regret that I didn’t know what I didn’t know about what Mama was going through after Daddy died. But I didn’t know. Some lessons take time and they take longer to effect the changes that I wish could have happened sooner.

It didn’t then. It has now.

I’ve had to make a lot of peace with myself and with God (and, at times, still find myself making peace with myself and God as I realize where I let both Daddy and Mama down, unknowingly along the way) that I was younger and just didn’t get it the way it was back then. I did the best I could, although I wish I’d done better and more, in spite of the limitations of understanding, of experience, of knowledge I had then.

Time is both a curse and a blessing. In the middle of time, we don’t have a clue. We move through it blindly, occasionally having flashes of light and inspiration and understanding, but never really grasping it fully. After that time has passed, we have time to think, to reflect, to dissect, to analyze, and it is there that we gain wisdom, understanding, and often times, change for the better. It is never an easy process in either circumstance, but if we learn from it, then it brings about permanent and positive changes.

 A few months before Daddy died, he and I sat down, face-to-face, at the kitchen table thatMama and Daddy had been the gathering place for our family from my earliest memories. We held hands. He asked me to promise him that I would take care of Mama when he was gone. I promised him that I would.

I knew that day that Daddy didn’t have much time left. His heart function was very low and there were no options left for him to change that. It was the last time I would see him alive. He died about three and a half months after we had that conversation.

Daddy’s death was probably the beginning point of my stepping up to the caregiving role for Mama. There was a protectiveness for both of them that I’d had since I had graduated from college, gotten a job, and was in a position to help them through the rest of their lives, no matter how or where they needed the help.

After Daddy died, that protectiveness took hold much more deeply with regard to Mama. Something in me changed and I realized I was willing to do whatever it took to make sure Mama was okay, safe, secure, and comfortable. Although it took time for me to be willing to give up everything and make Mama the physical priority in my life (and I did), the root of that decision took hold the day Daddy died.

Along the way, after Daddy’s death and as Mama progressed with vascular dementia, Alzheimer’s Disease, and Lewy Body dementia, I heard many of the eleven things you should never say to caregivers.

Fortunately, by the time I heard them on a regular basis, my commitment, my focus, my life, on a physical level, was completely dedicated to Mama being where she wanted to be (and where I wanted her to be), which was at home with me, and I actually, once I got over the initial “how could you even say that?!?” reaction I always had, learned to just let it go.

In the end, when we come to these decisions and choices with our loved ones with Alzheimer’s Disease and/or dementias, we have to get thick skins and realize that most of the things that people who have never been through this say are not malicious, not unkind, and not critical, but are simply a product of inexperience, ignorance (and I don’t mean that in a bad way – no one can know what they don’t know), and a lack of understanding. 

This, for me, was where I really learned about not being easily offended, about forgiveness, about compassion, and about mercy. Good lessons. I still have a lot to learn, but I’ve made progress.

So the list of what not to say is provided here as a guide, an educational tool, an effort on my part to offer experience to those who don’t have experience, to teach those who don’t know, to provide understanding those who may not understand.

It is not a criticism. It is not a condemnation. It is simply another step to bridge the gap, which this blog, in part, was created to do, so that we all know a little more, understand a little more, and can help a little more as we interact with those caregivers of loved ones with Alzheimer’s Disease, dementias, and other age-related illnesses among our friends and our family.

Dying Wishes – The Discussion Everyone Needs to Have with Their Loved Ones Long Before They Need to Be Honored

Ellen Goodman is one of my favorite essayists and authors. My first exposure to her writing was an essay entitled “The Company Man.” Even though I was just 16 years old when I read it in my AP English class, it had a profound impact on me. I still often think of it when the days and nights of life get long, hectic, and overwhelming and it helps me to step back and do, if nothing else, a little reset to get my priorities realigned.

Therefore, when I read her post on the living-or-dying decision-making (and second-guessing) she had to do for her mom when Alzheimer’s Disease had forced Ellen to be the decision-maker, I found it very interesting.

And familiar. Because even if you’ve had “the conversation” many, many times, I think second-guessing, especially toward the end of life when push comes to shove, is inevitable.

Mama and I had talked in-depth about her dying wishes for years and we had the documents and the paperwork done well in advance of her dementias, Alzheimer’s Disease, and congestive heart failure diagnoses.

Living will - dying wishesShe had a living will with no extraordinary measures, as I do. And she decided on a DNR after Daddy died without one and she saw first-hand the effects of futile life support that he had to go through in that last hour of his life because he didn’t have a DNR.

Even though Mama was a medical professional, as was Daddy, I believe the impact of seeing her soul mate and best friend go through being kept artificially alive even for that short period of time was profound and life-altering for her.

We talked about it a lot right after Daddy died, and I told her I had a DNR and had gotten itDNR (Do Not Resuscitate) in my early 20’s and I told her why I had (and still have) it. It made sense to her and we had her doctor draw it up and certify it.

As Mama’s heart health declined, we continued to have conversations about what she wanted and didn’t want as far as quality of life versus quantity of life.

We were so much alike in our very strong views that quality of life was what was important and not quantity (and this really is the core issue that must be addressed and resolved as part of the dying wishes conversation) that we never disagreed on care, treatment, and outcomes.

But it was because we had these heart-to-heart talks a lot in the last years of Mama’s life and we openly and frankly discussed death as the inevitable outcome and how Mama wanted that to be, as much as was within her control. 

When Mama told me she didn’t want to go to the hospital anymore for treatment for her congestive heart failure, I honored that wish, despite the frantic response about liability from the nurse on the phone when I called to have Mama’s doctor give us a prescription for the medicine (Lasix and potassium) and a schedule so that I could treat Mama for it at home.

The doctor ended up calling me himself and he got Mama in the next day to the office and gave me the prescriptions and schedule to do at home with a follow-up visit within the week with him. And we continued to do this at home until Mama’s death. That’s what she wanted and I was determined to make sure that her dying wishes were honored.

The issue came up again three months later when, on her birthday, Mama started throwing up in the afternoon and had chills and sweating. I wasn’t sure whether the symptoms were heart-related or not, so I took Mama to the ER. She had a gall bladder infection and after we were transferred to a bigger hospital early the next morning, a gastrointestinal surgeon came in and tried to talk us into putting Mama under general anesthesia to remove her gall bladder.

I refused that because I knew with Mama’s weakened heart, she wouldn’t survive it and told him we needed a Plan B. He reluctantly said they could put a drain in with local anesthesia to drain the infection out, but that reinfection was likely within a year. I realized even then that Mama’s health was such that it was unlikely that she would live long enough for a reinfection to occur, so after she and I discussed it, we agreed to the drain, which was successful in removing the infection.

It wasn’t until the very end of Mama’s life that I did any second-guessing. I knew logically and intellectually what she wanted and I was committed to honoring that. And I did.

But most of my second-guessing came in the form of wanting to be sure that I wasn’t overreacting as death approached and that once it was clear that Mama was in the dying process, I wanted to be sure she wasn’t suffering and I didn’t know how to gauge that (she wasn’t and I know that now, but it was paramount on my mind then).

The reality is that, with appropriate comfort care during the dying process, it’s harder to watch someone die than it is for them to actually die. Because we watch our loved ones die with all our senses intact, all our systemic functions intact, and all our alertness intact and it’s almost impossible to not project our intact selves into the process.

And that is why having the dying wishes conversation with our loved ones long before we have to honor it is so important. Most people seem to be very uncomfortable with this conversation – and the subsequent similar conversations that will and should follow it.

But let me ask you a question that shows why we need to get comfortable with it.

What if something with a life-ending outcome looming happened to you today and you’d never discussed and formalized your dying wishes with your loved ones and they were suddenly thrust into the position of having to decide whether to postpone the inevitable or let you go with no intervention in God’s timing?

Would you want your loved ones to be in that position? Would you want to be in that position? Think about it. And have the conversation. As soon as possible. 

Steps On The Path – From “Momma and Me Our Journey Through Lewy Body Dementia” blog

As I read this post tonight on Momma and Me Our Journey through Lewy Body Dementia, tears filled my eyes as I remembered a similar moment with my mom a week before she died.

Mom didn’t know who I was most of that last week, but she knew I was someone she could trust. At least after she cried out to God as I put her into bed the Monday of the week before she died and said the words that cut me to the very inner recesses of my heart: “Oh, God, she’s trying to kill me!”

Mom’s mobility was so limited after the major heart attack she suffered on August 2, 2012, that it took all my strength and effort for everything that required movement for her and with her. I was as gentle as I could be with her, and, in some ways, sacrificed my own body, to ensure that Mom was okay, safe, and not taxed any more physically than was necessary. Mom was worth it.

Azheimer's Disease Dementia Steps and Stairs Toward The EndEarly in the morning the Tuesday a week before Mom died, she was in the hospital bed I’d had delivered on Monday and I was in the recliner where she’d slept since we’d come home from visiting my twin sister in May (sleeping in a reclining position eased what I now realized were chest pains from her congestive heart failure).

I was in my usual half-awake/half-asleep nightly ritual when a severe leg cramp forced me out of the chair and onto my feet. As I stood up, I saw that Mom was awake, but the leg cramp was so bad, I knew I had to deal with it first before I could deal with her.

I have an old ankle injury (from a serious car accident when I was in college in which my foot got wrapped around the brake) in the leg that was cramping – which is also the leg that I’ve had three reconstructive, repair, and replacement surgeries on my knee – so I’ve learned over the years that I have to be careful not to pop the ankle when I’m trying to walk out leg cramps in that leg.

Walking wasn’t helping, so I sat in a chair and tried to massage the cramp out. It took about 15 minutes, but I was finally able to stop the cramping enough to go to Mom.

I walked over to Mom and took her into my arms and leaned down to talk into her good ear and ask if she was okay. She took me in her arms and held me close to her, returning my embrace fully, and said “I know I’m not going to get out of here, but you can, so as soon as you get well, promise me you’ll leave.”

I promised Mom that I would and we held each other, for me, as mother and daughter, tightly for several minutes. I kissed Mom and told her I loved her always and unconditionally, and she pulled me closer and squeezed me tighter to her chest and then fell asleep.

Other than Mom’s rally the following Saturday, this is one of the most precious memories I have of my last days with Mom. Even if she didn’t know who I was in a conscious way, somewhere deep inside she knew. She remembered. She loved me. She was looking out for me.

In Alzheimer’s Disease and dementia, there’s not a lot left for us to take away as the diseases destroy our connections to our loved ones. I’m thankful for each one that I have, no matter how thin, how temporary, how distant. Because I know behind each of those is my mom and our bond.

It promises me that some things can’t be broken. Ever. For that I’m grateful and thankful.

Guide to In-Home Medical Care Options for Our Loved Ones Suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease and Dementias

This post discusses home health care, palliative care, and hospice care options. Included in the video below are descriptions of each of these options and recommendations and advice, from my personal experience as a loving caregiver for my mom, about each one.

To begin the video, simply click on the “Play” arrow and the video will play (there is no sound).

Please continue to give me feedback on topics you’d like to see discussed here. This is our blog and, while I’ve got content that I’ve prepared and am preparing, I would also like to address any topics, concerns, and questions you have about providing loving caregiving to our loved ones with Alzheimer’s Disease and dementias. 

Mama: March 2, 1929 – August 14, 2012